


Warm Hands

by jehanjetaime



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Combeferre's POV, Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Period talk, Trans Enjolras, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 03:20:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7204778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehanjetaime/pseuds/jehanjetaime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a little drabble - canon era Grantire helping trans Enjolras with some pain, told through Combeferre's POV</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warm Hands

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know, this is a little odd, but just something that's been biting at me for a couple days.

"You must let yourself relax," Combeferre murmured, sitting next to Enjolras before the meeting. The back room of the Musain was quiet, for now. He looked at the man sitting next to him - his usually vibrant skin dusky, his bright eyes tired, almost unfocused. It was clear to Combeferre that Enjolras was not in his prime, not for the moment, and that worried him. Among their group, it was common knowledge that Enjolras worked too hard. Of course, that could be said for any of them. He just happened to not wear it as well. "You've looked this way for a good three days."

Enjolras, true to form, waved his hand in the air. But then he put that hand on Combeferre's shoulder, a quiet show of gratitude for his concerns. "Then you know as well as I that this is almost over. I am fine, Combeferre, you needn't worry."

He turned to few notes he had written down, and starting speaking about their point of discussion for the night. A clear sign that he no longer wanted to talk about it. Not that Combeferre could blame him for it; Enjolras had a special situation. Combeferre knew, by now, that Enjolras was a difficult man to handle. Especially now. Combeferre, though he understood the anatomy and science, could not truly understand the toll it took on one of his closest friends. But he knew that once a month, just about, things were harder on Enjolras than on most men. He made a point of only mentioning it when Enjolras seemed truly effected. So he let it go. They concentrated on their numbers, their plans, everything. 

Combeferre watched Enjolras as he greeted their friends with embraces and handshakes. The presence of their closest and dearest did seem to invigorate him, leave him more energized. Combeferre was pleased to see that. Enjolras could seem distant, cold. But spend just one night with him, and one would see how much he cared for his friends. It was obvious in how he asked of Joly's cold, Feuilly's profits for the day, Bahorel's lessons for the day - which always got a laugh from the man. 

"Watching our beloved leader?" came a chuckle. "Should I be concerned for my position?" Combeferre looked up to see his dearest one smiling up at him. How had he missed this entrance? He greeted Courfeyrac with a gentle squeeze of the hand under the table, and fell into conversation with him as everyone filed in, everyone settled. He spoke with Courfeyrac about his day, asking how school was and sharing his own experiences. It was nice to catch up with him after a day apart, and Combeferre was looking forward to the coming night - Courfeyrac often came to stay with him after meetings. They never had much time to spend together alone, and Combeferre lost himself in talking to his love.

As always, the meeting took a little time after everyone's arrival to truly start. Much like Combeferre and Courfeyrac, everyone wanted to catch up with their friends, check in on everyone. Still, once everyone was settled, and Enjolras stood to draw attention and open the meeting, things fell to seriousness.

And it was as if Enjolras had never, once in his life, been or even looked under the weather. Combeferre could see the way he gripped the back of the chair, or his tired eyes, but he did not think that they would have been noticeable had he not previously been aware of Enjolras' illness. 

He watched Enjolras circle the room as he spoke. But as he turned past one corner, Combeferre's eyes landed on something other than Enjolras - Grantaire, watching from his table shared with Joly and Bossuet. Grantaire, bottle raised halfway to his lips, watching Enjolras with a slightly open mouth, thick, unruly brows furrowed together, wrinkling the skin just above his deep eyes. He slowly took a drink, but his eyes did not leave Enjolras as the blond man circled the room. Combeferre could see the worry in his eyes, confusion in the folds of his knuckles. And then Enjolras tightened his jacket around his stomach, and Enjolras saw Grantaire's eyes widen. He set the bottle down and closed his eyes. Shook his head. 

No one seemed to notice when he went to the corner and stoked the small hearth, bringing the blaze up despite the warm air. But Combeferre did. Grantaire remained by the fire for the rest of the night.

It was a successful meeting, but as it faded into it's ending, Enjolras sitting at their table to look at the notes Courfeyrac had been making for him. They spoke quietly about the meeting, interspersed with chatting about their lives. 

Now that he was sitting, it was clear once again to Combeferre that Enjolras was not at the top of his game. He put a hand on the man's shoulder as everyone was packing up to leave. "Should I call you a carriage?"

"Of course not," Enjolras said. "It's fading, I'll wait it out here. Will you take the fliers, though?"

Combeferre agreed to take them, of course. They rearranged the tables to their usual spots, and Combeferre left with Courfeyrac. Even in the dark of the Parisian night, they could not hold hands, but they walked as close as possible, arms bumping, chatting. 

"What would you like for dinner?" Combeferre asked as they moved towards his rooms, which were not terribly far away. He did have schoolwork to worry about, but it could wait. And with Courfeyrac all his, anything but this auburn-haired jester could easily be pushed off to the side.

Courfeyrac risked tapping Combeferre's backside as they walked, making him blush. "I was thinking more of dessert. Weren't you?" One of those brows raised, a devilish smirk on his face. The shadow of the night caught in Courfeyrac's dimple, making Combeferre's heart skip a beat. He was just so handsome. "Dinner sounds awfully savory. I was hoping for something sweeter."

"Dinner might be more filling," he teased, causing Courfeyrac to clap a hand to his chest, heartbroken and insulted.

"Why, I never! And to think, I'm giving you the best years of my life!" Overly dramatic, he folded his arms over his chest and looked away. Combeferre was used to the way he played, and knew that in just a minute Courfeyrac would be back to what he was doing. 

Combeferre was looking forward to it.

Still, he shivered at the way that Courfeyrac's hand tickled its way up his spine. "Stop it," he murmured through a smile, turning to reach behind him and bat that hand away. Courfeyrac shrugged, but let it go. Combeferre let his hand fall back to the side.

And as he did, he realized how empty it was. "Oh, the fliers. I must have forgotten them...I'll be right back, wait for me here."

He left Courfeyrac standing on the corner and hurried back to the Musain. He slipped in quietly, padding down the hallway leading to the back room. He fiddled with his cuff as he opened the door to the room. It made no sound.

Combeferre would have expected the room to be empty by then, with the rambling path he and Courfeyrac had taken from the building. But there were two figures remaining, entwined by the fire. 

He stopped in the doorway, noticing how they stood. Who they were. Enjolras stood farther from him, closer to the fire. He was rubbing his temples, head resting against the man behind him. It was Grantaire, his arms just barely around Enjolras. Shifting just a bit, Combeferre saw that Enjolras' jacket was gone, his shirt bunched up around his waist. And Grantaire's large hands were against his bare skin, pressed to his lower abdomen. 

Combeferre knew that he should leave, that this was something private. He made to turn away, fliers forgotten, when Grantaire's deep voice met his ears.

"How's that feeling?" he asked. There was nothing in his voice that hinted at the lustful, but Combeferre knew that this was still an intimate moment. He stepped back into the shadows, still fully meaning to leave.

"Better," came Enjolras' reply. "It's just so. Consuming. It exhausts me, and then the pain..."

"Well, I'm here to help as much as I can." Combeferre saw Grantaire pull his hands away, then hold them close to the fire. When he returned his palms to Enjolras' body, it was with a pressure. And then it clicked - of course. The heat and pressure would help to relieve the cramping and pain that Enjolras suffered through. It was clear as day. 

Still, it was odd to see Enjolras relaxed and vulnerable, leaning so trustingly against Grantaire, murmuring together in warm tones. Combeferre wondered if, in the attention paid to his own blossoming relationship, somehow those two had slipped by unnoticed. Or perhaps they didn't want to be noticed. Even possible was that this situation did not go beyond what he had seen here tonight. 

Grantaire kept his hands against Enjolras' lower abdomen, rested his head against Enjolras' shoulder. "I've brought you tea as well. That should soothe it. Specially made."

"Thank you, Grantaire."

Enjolras turned, still in Grantaire's arms, and returned the embrace. That was when Combeferre turned away. He had seen enough, and felt bad enough for what he had seen. But he also felt better for leaving his ailing friend. Apparently, he was in good hands.


End file.
